


Basement

by ThornWild



Series: Moments [14]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Moments, Spike is insane in the basement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:45:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornWild/pseuds/ThornWild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike's insane in the basement, where The First taunts him in the guises of people he's killed, forcing him to relive his darkest deeds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Basement

**Author's Note:**

> This is a shorter, censored version of my short story Bad. I edited it and cut the flashbacks. If you want the full account of what happened in London in 1896, you can [read the original.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/651611)

The basement is cold, and it soothes him, somehow. Cool concrete underfoot, cold brick at his back. Keeps the memories away. Lets him blend into his surroundings, room temperature, as though there were no spark.

Keeps the memories away, until someone talks to him. Until _it_ comes to him, taking the form of someone else. Of Glory, who tortured him. Of the Master who, as his great great grandsire, owned him. Of Adam, who controlled him. Of Drusilla, who loved him, and Buffy, who didn’t.

And countless others, dead people, people he killed. A Chinese Slayer, who speaks to him in a language he can barely understand. A young man from Prague, babbling at him in stilted English. People whose deaths he orchestrated, or was otherwise responsible for, and every time he sees them, he relives them. It’s like falling asleep and dreaming, and then he wakes up, feeling sick to his stomach.

Was this really what he wanted?

‘Of course it was,’ it says to him, whispering in his ear. ‘This is what you wanted. You asked for this, begged for it, went through trials for it, because while you used to be a sadistic bastard, now you just want the pain.’ She steps out in front of him, looking down at him. A red-headed girl from London, in a green, blood-soaked dress. She has her hands on her hips, and she glares at him in contempt. ‘Remember, Spike,’ she whispers. ‘Remember what you did to me!’

And he remembers. Remembers being invited in by a middle-aged gentleman. Being offered a drink. Asking about his daughters and then snapping his neck.

He shakes and shivers, eyes shut tight, as though that will help keep the images away from his mind. 

‘Why are you doing this?’ he whimpers. ‘I know what I did, I know what I am! I’m a bad man… I know… I do…’

‘No, you don’t,’ says the girl. She’s on her knees in front of him, and when he opens his eyes again, they look straight into her angry green orbs, burning like flame, piercing him. ‘You have to remember, Spike. Remember me, remember all of us. This is your punishment.’

‘My… my punishment?’ His mind is hazy, and he can barely see through the tears clouding his vision. ‘My punishment for… for hurting the girl?’ He pauses, hesitant. ‘For hurting all the girls?’

She nods. ‘Now you’re getting it,’ she says, smiling.

And he remembers again. Creeping through the house, killing the servants, the governess… Draining the six-year-old in the frilly dress, on the floor amidst her pretty dolls. And then, entering the bedroom of the red-headed girl, Miss Madeleine, who loved gothic romance novels and who smelt of fear and excitement. He remembers how he bestowed on her her first kiss, and her last. How he bit into her neck, drank deep of her sweet virgin blood.

‘No!’ he cries. ‘Please, I’m sorry, I don’t want to see!’

‘But you must,’ she says, dispassionately, gazing into his eyes. ‘You have to see, you have to know what you did.’

‘I do!’ He shuts his eyes again, clutching his head in his hands. ‘I do know, I don’t want to, but I do, God help me…’

‘I wasn’t the first, was I?’ The voice has changed, and he open his eyes, staring at the figure in front of him.

‘Buffy…’ he whispers. ‘God, Buffy, I’m so sorry!’

‘I know,’ she says quietly. ‘You’re sorry about me, but are you sorry about them? Are you sorry about all the other girls you hurt? All the other girls you coerced, forced, raped?’

He looks away. ‘I… I didn’t…’

‘Didn’t what?’ she snaps. ‘Didn’t rape me? Where do you draw the line, Spike? Even though I stopped you, you raped me long before that night. Long before! You violated me. You made me think I wanted you, that I had no one else, that you were the best I was ever going to get. That… What you did… That was only the climax of months of abuse! So yes, you need to see, Spike. You need to know!’

And, unbidden and unwelcome, he sees it all, as though he were there again. The girl, on the bed, her heart rate slowing from loss of blood, but still alive. When he knows she’s at death’s door, he tears off what remains of her clothes and forces his way inside her. Her sobs only make him go faster, want it more. And just as he comes, he tears into her with his fangs and drains her dry. 

And at the same time, he sees Buffy, struggling beneath him on the cold bathroom tiles, begging him to stop.

Someone’s sobbing. It must be himself. And someone else is laughing. He thinks that might be him as well. 

‘William is a bad man…’ he moans. ‘A bad man… I’m a bad man… Bad…’

He curls up in the foetal position, trying to take comfort in the cold concrete beneath him. He didn’t know having a soul would be so painful. He didn’t know what it would do to him, didn’t realise how it would drive him round the bend. He needs help, but there’s no one here who can help him. No one here who will. And no one who should, because he doesn’t deserve it.


End file.
